Asgardian Issues
by BlackBlood12
Summary: The invasion of the New York left more than just debris to clean up. Rips in space are opening up, allowing creatures of the dark to escape into midgard. One of the worst - Percy Jackson - finds himself in the city of New York, where all the famed Avengers lie. But are they strong enough to take him - Odin's supposed equal - down? AU.
1. Genesis

Chapter 1:

Percy wondered how his life could be so _dull_. Wake up, eat, and go back to bed - his routine for life. How could anyone be utterly boring that this was what they did: every day, every year, for every stinking moment of their life?

He was a naturally excitable kid - having ADHD meant pent up energy was a given - and yet he had nothing to quench that tingling feel he'd get when so much pent up energy built up that he wanted to explode, or to relieve that ache he got when he was away from his element. It was almost a sin, in Percy's mind, to keep someone away from the thing that made them special – that and he was just _so bored_ without it. Most of his spare time consisted of sitting on his bed and staring at the stone ceiling of his cage – ahem, _room – _or over at the gym, pretending the punching bags were Asgardian soldiers (it really isn't that difficult to do, surprisingly.) It was the one thing that helped with his containment here.

All he wanted to do after three hundred years of solitude was to have fun! But that wasn't going to happen anytime soon. Not while _'he'_ was on his case.

Odin had definitely overreacted when it came to Percy. It was only the Asgardians he'd wronged, no one else. It wasn't even his fault for what happened; it was that stupid god's. Yes, he'd been a part of the rebellion to take over one of the nine realms (take a guess at which one), and yes, he'd also been a part of the plot to essentially commit regicide by dropping the future king of a cliff, but _still_. He didn't come up with the plan, and he certainly didn't have much of a choice in the matter. And yet, he didn't understand why he was the one suffering from extreme boredom while the rest of them were either living the high life in Asgard's cells or, even better, were allowed to go on with their lives after a few or so years in prison.

Of course, Percy hadn't been so lucky. Five hundred years in solitary confinement was his punishment. To spend his life on an isolated piece of rock that lay in a pocket dimension made by Odin's magic, with his only company being the guards who contained him. If he were to even set foot of the perimeter marked out for him (not that he could), Odin would know and the guards would blast him to oblivion.

Or, at least, they'd try to.

There was a reason why Odin hadn't killed him yet. It was the fact that, contrary to the popular belief that he was an omnibenevolent god, he couldn't kill him - nothing more, nothing less. Of course he'd tried; multiple times, in fact. But each one ended in the all father being depleted of his 'omnipotent' magic and him being in a shit ton of pain. After the first year of so, the all father had given up in his aim to kill him, instead deciding to lock him up for near enough forever. Because, if he couldn't kill the threat, he could at least contain it.

Percy, on his behalf, hadn't tried to escape once while he was trapped. There was no point, really. Odin controlled who visited or left the island with his magic, and while Percy himself was very skill in the arcane arts, he'd have to fight off an army and then Odin himself, not something he wanted to test his luck with. Plus, where would he go? It's not like the other realms wouldn't be looking for him if he were to leave. While many would provide help - due to a vendetta against Asgard or personal gain or just out of pure kindness - others would surely be loyal to the Asgardians, and would snitch on him in a heartbeat.

And so he stayed, staring at the overly bland ceiling made of marble. He listened to the oppressive sound of the clock ticking to his side:

_Tick – Tock!__Tick – Tock!__Tick – Tock!__Tick – Tock!_

He sighed, rolling onto his side to look out the glass wall. Outside, he could see the edge of the lush forest that covered most of the land, aside from the white beaches that had no ocean, and tide pools that had no water. He found it funny what lengths Odin had gone to keep him on the island.

The humour quickly died down, replaced by boredom, once again. Percy groaned in frustration. He was someone who could _literally_ bend the elements to his will! He shouldn't be this bored, even without his element at his beck and call! And yet, he was still _so very bored_!

He idly looked at the clock, watching with a pained expression as the second hand seemed to defy the laws of time and go slower.

_11:23:39_.

He felt like screaming in frustration and how little there was to do on this island. He'd already been to the gym enough for a lifetime, and he'd mastered the art of practically every violent form of violence out there. Several times had he wondered why Odin allowed him to learn even more vicious combinations than before, and yet forbid any Asgardian contact or basic entertainment. Hell, he wouldn't even mind having a book to read!

He swung himself of the white bedding, making his way towards the mirror on the wall, next to the wardrobe. He got changed into his regular clothing - which is to say, his armour.

This consisted of scaled chain mail under a breast-plate made of coal coloured metal and thick leather, with some parts being in a lighter shade of the grey, used to pattern out Asgardians runes. Six discs sat embedded within the armour, with two sitting on either hip bone, two on his mid abdominal's, and two slightly above his armpits. Armoured pants made of leather and protected in the same metal clung to his legs, with a similar belt holding them lowly to his hips. Muscular arms remained uncovered, aside from the two bracer on either forearm.

He stolen it from the royal place back when he was a free (semi free) man, and he'd used it ever since. It was now attached to his sword, Riptide, in some mysterious was he didn't understand. Whenever it was drawn, his clothes would change to this immediately, unless he willed it not to, or if he was already wearing it (again, he had no idea why Odin didn't take the armour back, definitely has the power to; he was beginning to think it was out of arrogance in his own skills.)

He wouldn't admit it to any, but he liked looking in the mirror. It wasn't in a vain, narcissistic way, where to checked himself out continuously (well, most of the time), but instead it reminded him of human contact. It sounded sad, very sad indeed, but after three hundred years, he craved to see someone other than the guards who held him captive. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had an actually conversation about something other than the weather, or the crappy food served here (oh what he wouldn't give to have come solar fruit.) He was sick and tired of it, and he still had two hundred years left.

He heard a knocking on the door. Turning slightly, he called out for the person to come in. The door was opened slowly and slightly, as if the person on the other side was scared. He wondered why; surely they knew he wouldn't – couldn't – hurt them lest he wish to face the wrath of Odin for another year of so. He really didn't want to face that hell again, no matter what the consequences.

The door was finally opened fully, revealing - as he suspected - a timid looking guard with brown hair and brown eyes. His gaze was hooked on his feet, obviously not wanting to meet his gaze. That didn't matter, though, since none of the guards wanted to meet his gaze. He wasn't at all offended by it; the opposite, in fact, as it proved to him that the soldiers of Asgard were actually quite cowardly.

"L- Lord Perseus, y-you have a message from th-the majesty, K-king-," the messenger let out a bleat of terror as Percy cut him off:

"Yes, King Odin, I now who ordered me here - now get to the point," he snapped, waving off the guard's insecurity. He wasn't in the mood to entertain simple house guests at this point in time - never was, really. The poor guy flinched viciously at the tone used, before he seemed to steel himself for what he was about to announce.

His voice still shook slightly, but seemed a lot more stable than before, when he literally looked like he was going to have a heart attack. "King Odin of Asgard has decreed that your sentence will be extended to eight-hundred years, instead of the original five hundred…" He trailed off, the once slightly confident tone turning into a squeak. Suddenly the guard was very worried for his life. The look Percy was giving him only solidified his fear.

It took a moment for Percy to process what he'd just been told. _"What?"_ He hissed, the voice just loud enough for the messenger to hear. The guard took several steps back at the tone used. While it may have been quiet, he could no doubt hear the contained fury waiting to explode within. He was now out of the door, wanting nothing more than to slam the door shut and hide in a corner for the rest of his life.

Percy felt his hand move towards his pocket, where he kept his personal weapon. He took several deep breaths as a way to steady himself, but it didn't work. His other hand leant against the wardrobe, holding onto its side in a death grip. While the messenger couldn't see what the object was, he could take a pretty good guess at it; a weapon that very nearly rivalled Gungnir in power.

"Do you know how long I've been on this island?" He questioned, his rage barely contained. His hand clenched around the object tightened. "Three hundred years. _Three hundred. Fucking. Years_." Growling loudly, hands clenched into fists against the hard marble of the drawers.

His rage exploded.

"_How dare he?! How very fucking dare he?!_" He roared, letting out his anger. His pocketed hand came out to grab the other side of the wardrobe, before he twisted, and threw it towards the wall with an enraged yell. The messenger let out an undignified bleat of terror as the object exploded in a shower of rocky debris. He ran off on wobbly legs down the corridor, not caring how he looked to his fellow peers.

Percy couldn't stop his anger from going out of control. He's right back where he started; with a five hundred year sentence. If Odin thought that he was just going to stand there and take that without someone paying, then he was wrong.

Oh so very, very wrong.

He needed to get away from this prison cell - from this pathetic excuse for a home. The forest that enveloped the building would be a good place to get rid of some pent up energy, and then he'd show Odin how serious he is about this. Maybe he'll sling up a few of the guards for all of the servants - and Odin - to see.

He couldn't go out the traditional way of the door; by now, the guards probably know of his outburst and had begun to lock up the facility. It didn't make much of a difference to him, aside from the fail safe, from where this tower (yes, his room was the very top of a tower - because even though the all father couldn't kill him, god forbid he fall a hundred metres or so) would crumble to dust, with him in it.

Thankfully, he'd already come up with a plan if anything like this happened - if you could call jumping out the window a hundred metres in the sky a plan. He still didn't know how to get off the island, only out of the stupidly designed building. But it was still better than nothing, and so he'd still go through with it.

He made his way towards the glass panel, standing about a metre away from it. Cocking a fist, he prepared himself to strike. Odin may have blocked his magic, but he couldn't do anything to stop his physical strength. The elevator could be heard in the distance, reminding Percy of how little time he had before the reinforcements came.

Not allowing himself time to hesitate or re-think, he struck. Glass went flying as the window exploded outwards. A sharp pain momentary went through his hand. He didn't need to check to know that his hand had been cut by the glass, something that was to be expected after punching it; he wasn't an idiot, he was expecting there to be some form of minor injury.

It was the jump he was more worried about.

Being on a practically uninhibited island meant that it was mostly covered in dense shrubbery, which meant that, in theory, they should help cushion the fall. But that definitely wasn't to say it would work, not even slightly.

He took several deep breaths to stabilise himself as he stood on the edge. His knees were bent, getting ready to propel him into the forest below. He took it back; he must be idiot if he thought this was by any means a reasonable escape plan. It didn't matter - there was no way off the island– but he wasn't about to just hand himself in without a fight.

With that in mind, he scrunched his eyes up and pushed himself off the edge. It was followed by a moment of normalcy, before weightlessness set in. He could help the small cry of terror when it happened; feeling his legs turn to jelly and his body shake in either fear or exhilaration made him do things like that. He couldn't hear anything aside from the roar of the wind, but he could tell that the guards would now be shouting orders for his capture.

He was falling fast - surprisingly fast. The trees were much closer, and he realised that by going at this speed, it wouldn't matter whether the trees cushioned his fall or not – the contact would be equally painful either way.

In an act of futility, he threw out his arms and legs, hoping that it would help slow down the fall. But the armour he was wearing weighed him down, pulling him faster towards the cold ground. He almost laughed at that irony, that armour was gonna get him killed.

Not being more than ten metres away from the floor, he shut his eyes and waited for the impact to take over his senses. The next thing he knew a sharp _pop _filled the air, followed by the unruly feeling of being pushed very hard from all directions; a burning sensation filled his body and a sharp pain went through the middle of his head.

And then it stopped.

No pain.

No pressure.

Nothing.

It wasn't what he thought falling would be like – he expected there to be a lot more pain - but who was he to complain? He cracked an eye open, then the other one. It crossed his mind that he shouldn't be laying on his back – he should be dying on his front. Instead, he looked up at the night sky above.

He blinked; had he fallen asleep? It was late morning when he last checked – so why was it suddenly so dark out. Picking himself of the floor, it became apparent how little pain he felt for a hundred metre fall. Aching muscles, yes, but no broken bones, large cuts or possible life threatening injuries at all. That was definitely strange – he should be screaming in agony as his bones were placed back into position, not wondering _why_ his bones weren't broken.

He felt a small shock deep within his stomach, making him lurch forward slightly in surprise. That wasn't possible, he thought, suddenly very anxious about what was going on. The last time he felt some a kin to this was three hundred years ago, before he was put under permanent house arrest. It was a feeling he was all too familiar with – something that had helped him bring the greatest rule's in history crashing to their knees. It was a signal that he had his magic back; something denied by Odin while he was on that accursed island.

But it wasn't possible; it meant only one of two things: Odin had fallen - the great all-father who had a kingdom of warriors and powerful magic by his side - and so he was transported back to Asgard, where his magic wasn't blocked, or he'd managed to escape.

The words seemed hollow in his mind. It was an impossible feat. No, definitely not. After three hundred years, he didn't not escape because of a hissy fit – nope, he wouldn't believe that at all. But even as he convinced himself otherwise, something within him began to spot the difference in his surroundings and predicament from before. Why else would his surroundings look so different to the ones before? Why would the sun suddenly be replaced by the moon? Why did he suddenly have his magic back? It made no sense. Unless…

But that was even less possible. Spatial rips were practically non-existent – something you told your children to stop them from going off too far. They only occurred once in a millions years, and only for minutes – seconds, more like. But what else had the power to defy the all father; not even he could command Yggdrasil, the world tree.

He laughed loudly. Three hundred years he'd been on that piece of land, _three hundred_. And now he was free – able to do as he pleased. Odin wouldn't be pleased, but why the hell would he care! But even as he thought this, a slighter of doubt crossed his mind. For all he knew, he was still on the island, a side that somehow evaded his vision for the past three hundred years. The guards would find him and take him back to the prison cell, where torture and more isolation would await his call.

He took a shaky step forward, under the deranged impression that it would fall away if he did, and then another, and another. Soon he was running, yipping and shouting at the top of his lungs; the air being so_ fresh _compared to the staleness of his prison cell. He already knew he was free; he had his magic, something denied for centuries on that island, and now he had it – wasn't that enough proof?

Thick tree branches were above, forming a canopy of twigs that blocked out the moonlight. But he didn't care. Pushing himself to go faster, he ran as fast as he could. He bobbed and weaved through the trees, scaring off deer and other animals when he zoomed past. It was so_ incredible – _never had he felt so free. He could do anything he wanted, no longer having to worry about any of the higher ups telling him what to do, like they had for all of his life.

He busted though the wall of trees, stopping abruptly when he saw a cliff in front of him. The momentum he'd gathered from running came into play, causing him to go hurling towards the edge, still. He waved his hands in front of him in an attempt to slow himself down. And it worked, with him barely stopping half a meter away from falling. Once was enough, thank you very much.

He could see glimmering lights in the near distance, lighting up tall towers with their pale stares. He recognised them as buildings – far behind the Asgardians in architecture and grace, but looked to be study enough. Beyond them, he could see a vast amount of water; a sea, hopefully. He could feel it thump and pulse in enjoyment at his arrival, making him smile. Its loud whispers barely reaching his ears, along with its painful cries to unknowing ears; he'd head towards this town, and then make his way to the sea, where not even Heimdall would be able to see him through his magic.

Out of all the words uttered by the water on his way to the town, one of them struck a memory within his mind: _Midgard._ He read about Midgard while imprisoned. Filled with humans, it was. Them being millennia's behind the Asgardians in technology and understanding of the metaphysical world, who seemed to think they were the only living organism worth living. They lived on a small hunk of rock they named Earth, said to be mainly water in comparison to many of the other worlds.

A laugh escaped from his lips, crude and cold to even his ears.

He grinned. _Let's see what you've got._


	2. Two Years Later

_Chapter 2:_

**_2 Years Later:_**

Odin was not happy.

Not in the slightest.

Now, many would say that he was just being paranoid; after all, Thor had just come back from saving that planet – Earth, was it? – From destruction, and had allowed for a second infinity stone to be placed under lock and key. That was certainly something to celebrate - any civilised, Asgardian being would say.

But no, not for the king of Asgard, it seemed. It wasn't that he wasn't proud or relived for the victory on Midgard, it was just an undying feeling that something terrible was going to happen, and usually, that meant something absolutely _abysmal _was just around the corner.

So, he sat in the throne room, while men and women of all shapes and sizes conversed and spoke over a celebratory feast. The ever-changing lights dyed many in stunning colours: crimson and gold surrounding clumps of people, while bright whites and greens illuminated the dancing area in an almost surreal light. Thor stood tall in the middle, retelling his story every five minutes to curious bystanders, while his wife – in all her grace and beauty – acted like a true host, greeting each person politely and making small talk.

And here he was, overseeing all of this with a frown on his face. Many must've noticed his angered persona, since they avoided him in all possibly ways known to Asgard's. He could see the sympathetic looks shot his way – probably believing the cause was from his son's imprisonment and betrayal - how wrong they were.

He caught Thor shooting him a worried look, watching with half lidded eyes as he made his way over.

"Why are you not celebrating, father?" He questioned in a weary voice. Unlike many of his bystanders, he wore a simple brown cloak, concealing much of his body from view. While everyone else's extravagant ball gowns and suits all merged to become a sea of incoherent blurs, he stood out like a sore thumb. It was surprising how much Thor had changed over the past months: no longer holding arrogance in his voice, or vanity in his appearance. Instead, he'd taken on a more solemn look, taking on the appearance of a king (if the clothing choice was ignored, of course.)

Odin couldn't have been more proud of his son, and yet he feared for his well-being. Many of the realms now respected the Asgardians, but he got the feeling that they wouldn't hesitate to turn against them if certain enemy's came to power – not that he blamed them. If he was put in that position, he'd also take to doing what is best for his kingdom, no matter the cost.

So he sighed, and shook his head, "Nothing you need to concern yourself with, Thor." He stood there for several moments, as if pondering whether to stay, or go back to the party. It seemed as though he chose the latter.

"Father, you _can_ tell me – if something threatens Asgard, then I want to know before-"He was cut off by Odin raising a hand, silencing him.

"Do not worry yourself, son, it is simply a feeling – nothing to concern yourself with, like I said. Now, go back to your party – I'm sure your knight are wondering why you're spending time on your father, and not partying like the rest of them." Even he could hear the many years of age within his voice. Thor reluctantly obliged, nodding his head in acceptance, before turning away and walking over to a group of awaiting bystanders. The smile crept back on to his face, and before long he was laughing and joking like before.

A smile crept on to his face at the sight, but the happiness didn't quite make its way to his eyes, where sadness and pain still lay in view.

"You know, this is a party – you should be having fun, or at least not sitting alone by yourself," a voice scolded from beside him.

He smile widened slightly, "while that's true, shouldn't you also be having fun?" He turned to look at his wife in the eyes, who laughed at the comment.

"You always could see thought my facades, couldn't you?" She replied, taking host to the seat next to his own. He watched as she began to eat the food on her plate, taking in the deep bruises underneath her eyes and the slightly jaded expression on her face. _She mustn't have slept well_, he thought, thinking back to the restless nights he'd been having recently.

"I can see you've had them as well," she said after a moment of silence. He looked at her was a mildly surprised expression, but it quickly faded. Just as well as he could read her, she could read him.

"The Nightmare's - I mean," she added on quickly as an afterthought. He nodded slightly, gaining an almost relieved expression from her – had it not been for the look of worry coinciding with the relief.

"What do they mean?" she asked lightly, more to herself than anyone else, yet he still answered:

"I don't know."

It was true: the all father, one of the few who knew the most about magic and the nine realms, had no clue where this chilling fear had come from – but he could have a guess. He hoped that it was false. He _really_ hoped that it was false, for everyone in Asgard's sake.

Frigga must've followed his train of thought; "you don't think that – maybe – it's possibly that, you know, _he _had something to do with this?" She asked warily.

That's exactly what he thought – and it's exactly what he feared. The logical side was telling him that his wasn't possible – it meant he'd escaped, something so unlikely to happen that it was almost laughable to even consider.

But this feeling – it was so much like before, so much so that it was almost uncanny.

He decided to answer truthfully, "I'm not sure, but for him to escape would be a crazy assumption." He hoped that his reply would ease his wife's fears for the future.

"I know - but we thought that last time, didn't we? And he ended up escaping – "

"There's no point in worrying about the future when we don't even know if it's true – let's just enjoy the party, and talk about this later," He said, getting a nod from his wife. He sat up and made his way towards the exit: needing a quick breather after that depressing conversation.

He made his way towards the gardens - going through hallways and up stairs; across rooms before he finally reached the archways leading to the courtyard. It was all but silent, providing a perfect atmosphere for him to gather his thoughts. Aside from the far off music of the party, the only noise was that of insects and birds, with their low humming chirps. He found a vacant bench deep in the heart of the gardens, where he sat down.

It was a relaxing place - the gardens. The sweet smell of honeysuckle and grape vines fill the air, while the simmering lights of fireflies hung sparsely in the air. Odin took in a deep breath, lavishing in its aromatic scents. He allowed a small smile to slip onto his lips, closing his eyes as a way to forget – just for a moment - about all the problems surrounding him and Thor and Asgard at the moment.

He thought about his early years as king, how his worse threat was that of angry civilians. Now? He had a crazy, adopted son who tried to enslave an entire race, the nine realms each demanding _some _form of comfort after the battle with the Chitauri, and a possible new threat to top it all off.

But somehow, they'd managed to pull through two of them without suffering tremendously, so he felt confident that whatever this new threat was – signalled by this _sensation_ – that they would be able to defeat it, like every other time.

Or so he thought.

He stayed there for what felt like hours, listening to the slowly dying noise of the garden. He could still hear the party's music, but it had changed considerably over time – lowering in both in dynamics and tempo.

_Perhaps I should go back_, he wondered absent-mindedly, after realising how long he'd been gone for. His body protested, not ready to relinquish its position on the bench just yet. I tilted his head back and closed his eyes, wanting to get in a few more minutes of paradise before returning.

He heard someone clear his throat to his right. He suppressed a groan; it had become a common occurrence for guards, when delivering bad news, to clear their throat before answering. Sometimes, of course, it was to catch their attention, but most of the time it usually meant they were trying to pluck up the courage to talk. Because of this, it was relatively easy to decide whether the news was good or bad before a word was even uttered: if silent, then it was good - if not, then it was bad.

He opened his good eye, turning slowly towards the guard who'd coughed. It turned out there was more than one guard standing there (four, to be precise) - waiting for his attention. One stood slightly more in front of the rest, with his head held higher than the others –only by a little, but still noticeable. Odin assumed that this was the one who had cleared his throat; the supposed leader, perhaps.

"Can I help you?" He asked coolly. The slightest shuffle of unease went through the group, with each guard looking expectantly at one another, as if deciding which one should speak first. He swore he heard one of them let out a squeak at the question, but brushed it off as a trick of the mind.

It was the man closest to him that spoke first, his voice surprisingly firm compared to his visibly quivering partners. "Your Majesty, the reports from the Isle of Il De Meurtre have come in and –"The guard took in a sharp breath as Odin visibly stiffened.

Cold fear washed over him at the mention of the island. _It's nothing to worry about_, He chided to himself, _just a biennial report – they happen every few years, right, why would this one be any different? _However, no matter what he told himself, there was no denying how the chilling miasma gave a leap at the name - or that the news regarding his worst kept secret was going to be bad.

Very bad.

He kept silently telling himself to calm down – that he was getting worked up over nothing. Several moments passed, before he took in a deep, _deep_ breath and signified the guard to continue with a nod.

Silence followed, only broken by the shaking inhales of the messengers. Odin looked in mild confusion at the leading guard, only to be met with a hopeless expression: his brow furrowed together tightly, and eyes that shone within a pained look.

"It's not good, sir, not good at all."

The reaction was near instantaneous, with Odin's face turning to that of horror: lips parting slightly in uncontained awe and eyes widening in size considerably. That _wasn't possible_.

"Don't tell me…" He whispered; hoping that this was but a joke. The silence was all the reply he needed to know it was true.

Moments passed in a stunned silence, with nothing making a sound. It was as though the very thought of him escaping was enough to suck the life out of the air; as if the man himself stood next to them, letting his very presence slowly chill them to insanity.

"How did this happen…?" He muttered, more to himself than to the guards. However, one of the quieter soldiers decided it would be the right time to pipe in: "We're not sure – though several of the guards said he 'vanished while falling out of his cell' - whatever that means. We've got some of our scientist's working on it, though all they could think of was spatial rips. "

"Spatial rips?" Odin repeated, gaining a small nod in return. He pondered the idea for a moment: it was true that, if the cause was because of a rip in Yggdrasil, then it would explain how he managed to bypass the security completely undetected. It would also explain how he managed to vanish, and how he escaped the pocket dimension with Odin noticing. The only thing that disclosed the idea was the fact that spatial rips only open up on the daily rate of one every millennium - making it almost impossible for it to occur at the right place, and the right time, for him to escape.

He shook his head slightly – there was no point in figuring out _how_ he escaped at the moment, instead they needed to find and contain him before some innocent got hurt.

"What are your orders, sir?" One of the guards asked, returning Odin's attention to the problem at hand.

He thought for a moment: "Well… we can't engage warfare with him – our armies have already been weakened by recent events," he explained, after seeing both the confused and offended looks from the guards; "imprisonment would be the most obvious way forward – but, that'll be almost impossible now…"

He took a deep breath in, mulling over his choices, "I think our best course of action would be to find and track him - that way as soon as he commits a felony we can get the opposing government on our side and – hopefully – imprison him once more," He concluded slowly, with he himself uncertain of the plan just laid out.

The guards seemed to think about the course of action, before agreeing within them that it was, indeed, the best way and only way forward.

"I'll have my best men search for him right away, your Majesty." The leading guard said, before bowing lowly and taking his leave.

"Good luck," Odin replied, though it seemed as though he didn't hear the comment. _You'll need it_, he added silently as the last of the group left. Once again, Odin was left by his lonesome, with silence being his only companion.

_Lord help us now, _he thought solemnly.

* * *

Peter was happy to say that his life was at an all-time high: him and Gwen were getting along well, with their relationship possibly turning towards the more than friend's zone - which he was eternally thankful for. Aunt May, while still suffering from the death of Uncle Ben, was slowly yet surely making a recovery; turned her attention to nursing school (not that she knew he knew.) School was going well, with him getting top grades in all his subjects – including Sports, for once. And, even though most teenagers didn't have this problem (at least, he _hoped _they didn't have this problem) there had been little need for Spider-man over the past few months – which was pretty cool.

So, all in all, life was good, he concluded. At the moment he sat in English with the teacher blabbering on about something (he'd heard the words 'Pie' and 'elephants' which made Peter wonder what on earth Mr Denman was trying to tell them)but it didn't matter. He wondered absent-mindedly how a person could talk for so long without inhaling, but he quickly diminished it on the basis that he's fairly sure that Mr Denman wasn't human.

The bell broke Peter out of his daydream, ringing obnoxious throughout the room. Mr Denman sighed irritable, his talk being cut off abruptly by the noise.

"Class dismissed," the teacher snapped, waving dismissively towards the exit, "go on to lunch, then."

Students began to make their way out of the room, with Peter trailing at the very back. He kept his head low as he made his way out of the class room, well aware that direct eye contact with _a few_ human beings meant a near certain beating in the future – something he didn't really want, to be honest, even after gaining superhuman senses.

He went towards his locker, throwing his binders casually in once it had been reached (after lunch was science, and after that was Maths; he had no need for the others.) He then made his way out to the bleachers, bobbing and weaving through the sea of people that pushed against him. The crowd slowly dispersed once he was outside, making the rest of the way relatively easy.

Gwen was already waiting for him outside, sitting on one of the lower benches of the bleachers; a book in one hand and a sandwich in the other; her bag lying carelessly next to her in a heap. He sat on the other side, laying his bag on the bench below.

"Did you know that Mrs Blanchard is a douche?" She said as a way of greeting, not looking up from her book.

He frowned, taking his lunch out of his bag, "No –why – what did she do?" He asked; taking a large bite from his now opened sandwich.

"Oh, you know, she just threatened to give me a detention for missing the homework _she knew I'd already done,_" She shook her head in disbelief. "I swear she has it out for me," she muttered to herself, turning to look at him.

He suppressed a laugh at his girlfriend irritation - not wanting to seem inconsiderate. A few months ago she nearly died due to a mutated lizard with anger management issues, and now here she was, treating over an angry teacher – he just found it quite funny, when in perspective. Unfortunately, she still managed to hear the laughter, even after his best attempt to stifle it. She turned to him, looking ready to give him a piece of her mind.

Her irritation washed away into amusement when she looked at him, suddenly making his smile fall right off his face.

"What? What is it? Why are you smiling like that?" He questioned in a flurry; his tone was light heartened, though, with the smile already breaking its way back onto his face.

She shook her head again – this time in mirth. "You have mayonnaise on your chin – here, let me," she said, just as he began to move to wipe it off. He felt her delicate touch for just a moment, before it was gone – her thumb having a small smudge of white, which she then wiped against the bench.

"So... aside from the douchy teach, how was it?"

She shrugged, "Fine, I guess – I got to spend some time with Annabeth for a change, which was a nice turnaround,"

"Is she still going after Percy – was it?" He interrupted, his brow furrowing when trying to remember Annabeth's crush, making the sentence sound more like a question than it should of.

Gwen nodded. "She hides it well – I'll give her that. But seriously, what she sees in him is beyond me – aside from the looks, of course, _that _I can relate to," she spoke the last part in tuneless mirth, getting a shove from Peter in return.

"Shut up," he muttered, eliciting a laugh from Gwen.

"Come on! You know I'm joking!"

He smiled, "You better be," he said as a light-hearted threat.

Silence befell them– a comfortable one. He watched from the corner of his eye as the smile from Gwen's face fell, and was instead replaced with an almost wistful expression.

"I know you're curious about him, too, Peter," she said at last, staring out into the distance with a jaded expression. He tensed slightly at the accusation, but did nothing more.

It was true, after all.

Peter Parker _was_ curious – curious about him, Percy Jackson. He was an anomaly – an enigma just waiting to be solved. Having arrived without warning at midtown high school almost two years ago, he quickly showed himself to be a social loner – despite his unnaturally good looks. He didn't fit into any of the social groups: not the nerds – he wasn't smart enough; not the jocks – he wasn't social enough; nor the hipsters – he didn't care enough; no one.

It didn't really surprise him at all that everyone found him physically attractive, and wanted to be friends with him: incredibly tall, with muscled limbs that shouldn't have been possible on a seventeen year old; short, textured hair that was longer on the top and stuck up at the back, with clear signs of shaving; a chiselled face and body, along with what seemed to be a good wardrobe to boot. To many, he was the literal interpretation of the phrase 'tall, dark and handsome,' which kind of sucked for people like him.

He'd seen many women approach him, all of which were turned down. He'd seen many try to befriend him, all of which suffered from a verbal beating. Hell, he'd even heard rumours about how his family shied away from him, for some reason or another.

Sufficed to say he wasn't a social butterfly.

But that's not what Peter was curious about (_wary _would be a better term for his predicament) – it was the chilling sensation surrounding him that he was wary (definitely the better term) about. Each time Peter approached the boy, he was overcome with what felt like ice needles sinking into his spine – it wasn't nice.

At first, he wondered whether it was his spider senses catching up on some strange mojo around him – which he later decided was true after the sheer amount of people who wanted to be friends with him. He then decided to just face Percy about it, but after seeing the boy's biceps and sheer strength, he decided it would end up with him in danger of a fist; normally, he wouldn't worry about such things, but something about the man just made him nervous. He also really didn't want any more bruises than was necessary – which was to say, none at all. Besides, what exactly would he say to him? _You make me feel strange inside_? He's fairly sure it would be taken the wrong way to, well, anyone.

Gwen took his silence as a cue to continue: "You know, I think something's wrong with him – I've seen him, sometimes, at the beach, and it's like he's talking to himself there – it's, I don't now… _creepy _– not just to watch..."

The bell rang in the distance, cutting Gwen off like it had with Mr Denman.

Peter jerked slightly, not expecting the sudden noise, before looking over in the direction of the school, giving it the evil eye. Gwen looked surprised too, turning to look at Peter.

"We'd better go," she said, making a grab for her bag and stood up. "I'll meet you after school, 'kay?" She then walked off, jumping down the stairs in a surprising rate.

Peter sighed, grabbing his own bag and casually made his way to Science.

_I'll asked about it late_, he promised to himself.

* * *

**I'm sorry this took so long for it to be update - I put it on pure laziness more than anything else (and Youtube.) I'm going to update some of my other stories first - mainly Walking Through Darkness because someone politely requested it. I also continuously stuck on the where to start and all that. But now I'm really curious about what you thought, so Review, Follow and Favourite if you like it. And, completely off the subject, but who do you think it better out of Percy and Jason (I know, completely off the subject but oh well) and what I mean by this is, like, physically, relatably (don't thinks that's a word - meh), in a fight... etc.**

**I, had you not guessed, definitely prefer Percy to Jason, and might explain why later on - if I have the energy to (so never, basically.)**

**Remember: review, favourite and follow if you like it, **

**Till' next time**


	3. Lake Kidnapping

_Chapter 3:_

Percy sighed irritably, his hand holding the steadily drooping head in an attempt to stop it from falling. His foot jogged impatiently against the ground while he wondered, for what felt like the thousandth time, why he had to go to school. A shudder had to be suppressed at the name: school – something that made three-hundred years of solitude look _fun_.

It helped, with a quick glance around the room, to see that he wasn't the only one in a state of near depression: those at the back sat in similar positions to his own, with some disregarding all respect for the teacher and laid limp on their open books. The sight reminded Percy of the cats that sat outside his apartment. A group of girls sat on the opposite end of the classroom, huddling like penguins as they tattled like hummingbirds.

The only ones who were possibly listening to Mr Adams – the stout, balding man who both looked and sounded like a mouse – were sat at the front, furiously taking notes with their heads kept low. He himself sat three from the back, on the edge that was overlooked by windows. Grover sat next to him, sleeping on his books with a trail of drool coming out of his mouth.

Percy liked Grover, despite what many people seemed to think. He didn't ask questions about his past, or why he didn't attempt to make any more friends than he already had. Brown hair was a curly mop upon his head, aside from two tufts that shot out like horns on the side – something Percy liked to continuously tease him about. When awake, his eyes would continuously darting around the room, like a frightened deer awaiting its death on the road.

Percy exhaled loudly, his eyes set intently on the golden waterfall of hair cascading in front of him. His attention diverted to the precariously balanced stack of glue sticks, when he caught the golden girl turned around. Like him, she took a quick gaze around the classroom, her eyes passing from person to person without hesitation – until, of course, she looked at him.

Calculating, they were. Like thunderstorms on a warm summer's eve, they looked like the impending clouds and shone like the lightning. Her curious gaze almost immediately turned into that of a glare - judging him like he was a piece of meat waiting to be eaten. Her face quickly followed: the jawline clenched; her lips became a thin line; her brow furrowed.

Percy had to admit, even when her face was as hard as stone, that she was beautiful. Perhaps it was the natural beauty she had; the lack of make-up on her face. Maybe she was just lucky. But either way, he'd new that many desired her angelic appearance - be it out of jealousy or lust. He'd heard her name whispered by groups of girls who enveloped corridors, and boomed by the jocks who had too much self-confidence:

Annabeth – Annabeth Chase.

After a moment, her head whipped back around to face the front. Percy watched as she wrote furiously inside her binder, wondering idly what had just happened. The thought didn't last, since the only thing he cared about at the moment was the end of the day (ten minutes and counting.)

Grover bleated in his sleep, catching the attention of everyone around him - including the teacher. The already quiet class turned silence as Mr Adams looked over his shoulder, trying to find the culprit. His eyes quickly landed on the hunched over form of Grover. Sighing, and placing the chalk on the wooden desk - next to the board - he turned towards Grover.

Percy shook him, but it was already too late - punishment was ensured. Grover immediately jerked wildly awake, shooting a confused look over at Percy, before noticing the angry teacher looming over him.

He peered timidly up at the teacher, visibly gulping in fear as he shrank back at the look he was getting.

"Tell me, Mr Underwood, does this look like a bedroom to you?" Mr Adams asked coldly, his ratty voice the only noise that could be heard from inside the classroom.

Grover fumbled for the right words, his face quickly resembling that of a tomato. "N - No," he stuttered out. "_Sir_," he added quickly.

A smug smile broke out on Mr Adams face: "No? So why, exactly, are_ you sleeping in my lesson?_" His voice was slow and strained and smug, resembling somewhat of a growl.

Grover looked down, dejected and already guessing the month long detention he was going to get. "I'm tired, sir," he said quietly, barely audible to even the teacher.

The smug look turned into a snarl: "detention, Mr Underwood," he snapped, before looking to the back of the class, where several students still slept.

"You too, Mr Sloan, Mrs Bobofit," he said, just as the bell rang its horribly loud and obnoxious sound.

Percy turned to look at Grover, whose face had gone pale. He felt a stab of sympathy for Grover; his dislike for detentions, accompanied by spending it with two of the worst people at school, meant the next hour would be hell incarnate for him.

"Do you want me to stay?" Percy offered, but began to pack up his books anyway. Grover shook his head, after a moment of consideration.

"No; you'd be waiting forever, knowing Mr Adams…" – Grover let out what seemed to be a half-sigh, half-groan at the thought – "see you tomorrow – for the meet up?" Grover said. He seemed strangely embarrassed at the concept of having a detention.

Percy smirked. "Yeah," he said, standing up and throwing his bag over one shoulder, "two 'till five at your place, right?" Grover nodded.

Percy quickly turned and made his way out the door, pausing on for a second to re-adjust his bag and pull the grey hood of his jacket up. He saw that the corridors were flooded with people, flowing like a river towards the exit. He looked around for ones of his friends (be it the twins, Leo or Frank – he didn't care) to walk with, since Grover was occupied. He couldn't find anyone, after several moments of looking. Sighing, he kept his head down and joined the crowd. It didn't take long for him to get out the front door - what with people from all sides pushing him forward, and having exceptionally long legs for exceptionally long strides.

He felt a cool chill of wind stroke his face once he was outside, and inhaled deeply. The sun beat down against him, with splashes of white scattered on the vast blue sky. The temperature was pleasantly cool, and he stood there for a moment, simply enjoying the calming breeze. The howling of cars was all he could hear, aside from people chatting to one another. His eyes scanned over the crowd, once again looking for someone he was willing to walk with.

He sighed, coming up empty handed._ I guess I'll be walking by myself, then, _he thought, setting off down the road. His strides were long and gracefully; his pace quick. It was the middle of rush hour, from what he could tell, with cars honking obnoxiously and the paths becoming overcrowded and claustrophobic to him.

Percy weaved through them with skill, not pausing for even a second to slow down. He went down the path he'd taken so many times before, having remembered it from continuous repetition: Turn right, walk two blocks, turn left, carry on. Ten minutes had passed before he knew it, with the groups having thinned and the noise lessened to a bearable standard. He, too, slowed down to a moderate pace.

He turned, and looked around, having kept his gaze on the concrete floor below. On his left were shops – cafes and convenience stores where he and Grover would buy sweets and snakes. He thought about buying some for tomorrow, but decided he had enough to last a lifetime.

To the right, past the road, was a park. A huge lake sat in the middle, taking up most of the space, completely still – like liquid glass it reflected the outside world to perfection. It was bordered unevenly by dirt, with trees lining the perimeter and grass growing thick all over. There were no benches of any kind, and few people sat near the lake edge. Percy smiled wistfully, before walking nonchalantly across the road.

He wasn't entirely sure what happened next.

Screams came from the left, along with the sound of stone cracking; it was as though something large was running towards him, causing tremors to shoot up his body. Percy only had a moment to turn his head before something big, silver and metal slammed into him. At first he thought it was a car, but on further observation he deduced it probably wasn't – cars don't usually pick people up. It was strange: the world around him whirled as a blur of incoherent colours with the ground deserted as whatever it was picked him up.

Movement stopped - he just managed to catch a glance at he crowd gathering about a block away, with hundreds of souls staring wide eyed with terror at whatever the hell was crushing him. Sirens blared in the background, but no police cars came.

The second passed, and, accompanied with the crushing of concrete, the world once again turned into an incomprehensible paint palette. He could tell that the not-a-car had jumped, and a considerable distance, for when they landed it was deep into the lake itself. Water slopped beneath him, caressing his toes through his converses.

He looked down: A huge, mechanic, giant of a hand was holding him up by his torso – with his arms and legs free to dangle in mid-air. Twisting, with some difficulty, he turned too looked at his captor - a huge, metal suit. The torso was plated in thick metal, with black cables and wires visible in the areas that weren't covered. The helmet was shaped to resemble a rhinoceros head, while the body looked like something from an exaggerated sci-fi movie. Percy wondered idly why a metal rhino would want to capture him.

He looked back up. The Police had surrounded the lake by now, with some officers ducking behind parked cars while others had their guns out at a distance. A few particularly brave ones were making their way to the water's edge, keeping low to the ground in case there was an open fire.

A subtle hum from behind him, like that of a machine, could be heard before a voice called out: "Well look who it is! The chief of police coming down to gawp at little 'ol me - I'm touched." The voice was loud and sounded strangely fuzzy, like talking through a stereo.

Percy caught sight of a policeman – who he assumed to be the chief – straighten up from his hunched position. He couldn't make out the face, but the tone of voice portrayed all the emotion he needed.

"Aleksei…" The chief growled, "of course it would've been you."

He got a laugh in response.

Percy had no clue who the 'Alekei' fellow was, but truth be told, he didn't want to spend his entire evening dangling in his arms. It begged the question as to how he was going to escape, though, knowing that it would get a lot of media attention if a kidnapped man started to throw water around like a weapon. Had he been wearing a disguise, then it would've made his life so much easier (you couldn't look for someone you didn't know.)

Alas, he wasn't… or was he?

His hood was up, wasn't it? And he doubted anyone could see his face from this distance – a little spell and hood would shroud his eyes. Another tiny little spell and it wouldn't be blown off his face, be it from wind or potentially lethal attacks aimed to kill him.

Percy thought about it for a second longer: he couldn't see anything wrong with it - and even if it did backfire completely, it wasn't like it was the first crazy thing to happen in New York.

He concurred that it was a good idea, and brought one of his hand up to his face. Pulling the clothing tightly downwards, he whispered the words under his breath:

"_Nemorosus - et ne exivite de ea._" He felt the familiar chill of magic go down his spine; his sight became shrouded and dark – as if he were wearing sunglasses.

"What was that?" Percy heard Aleksei growl, grinning coldly at the thought of beating him. Without warning he span, throwing his arm around in large arc towards the man's wired neck. Several metres away, the lake exploded into a furry of water; it twisted and curled and compacted at an unbelievable rate, hurling itself towards the machines neck without thought.

It was sliced through like butter.

Percy heard Aleksei cry out in terror as his rhino-like head was cut off, stumbling backward and letting go of Percy. He fell - momentarily weightless - before the water cushioned his fall effortlessly.

Turning his fall into a crouch, he dug his hands into the lake's still surface. He willed the water up his arms, and once against the water obeyed: twisting upwards and tearing away at the cloth, it stopped at the shoulders, leaving his hoodie a sleeveless mess.

Percy didn't care.

He stood up tall, staring coolly at Aleksei, who had recovered from his initial shock. The water beneath him crackled as it froze over, forming a large berg of ice for him to stand on. His arms were covered completely in water, forming two tentacular whips that were far longer than his limbs would ever be.

"What the…" Aleksei began, but faltered. Percy saw the moment of hesitation as a chance to attack. Bending his legs slightly, he spiralled round, building up tension inside his body. Barely even after one circulation, he let go of the tension, throwing one of his arms forward like a javelin.

The water knew exactly what to do, elongating from it passive position to lung forwards like a snake. The whip split into five pieces at the tip, forming what could only be described as a grotesque claw as it grabbed hold of Aleksei's face, engulfing it completely. The man let out a muffled scream at the attack, only to have the watery arm freeze completely in response.

Percy, not wasting any time, pulled his hand back quickly, tearing the man out of his suit without mercy. Cuts spread across his entire body as he was pulled out of the small opening, the sharp metal cutting into his delicate skin from the lack of care. Skin was peeled away as rigid metal slid across his arms, tearing sections away.

The tentacle returned to its original position, holding the man about a metre away from Percy. Aleksei clawed at the frozen hand, desperately trying to remove the ice from his nose and mouth. Percy knew if he didn't relinquish its hold soon, the man would suffocate to death. Still, he'd keep him like that for a bit longer, if not just to prove a point.

The tentacle moved; Aleksei was pulled even closer to Percy. Cocking back his other hand, Percy readied himself to attack. The water gathered around his fist, once again forming a large, clawed hand. The ice completely covered his forearm, pleasantly cool against his skin.

He was just about to attack, when a large bang resounded from behind him; a slight discomfort came from the small of his back. Percy paused for a moment, quickly working out that a policeman had shot at him… he forgot about the police. He mentally shrugged; they couldn't stop him, and it wasn't as if he was actually going to _kill_ him.

After a slight pause, Percy moved, barely looking over his shoulder as the other hand came round, throwing a chunk of ice toward the perpetrator. As it turned out, the chief of police was the one who had shot him, standing with his gun surprisingly steady at hand. He couldn't dodge the block of ice, though, it seemed, as the slab hit him square in the chest, pinning him to the floor. The chief gave out a strangled yelp in surprise, as if expecting the man he just shot to stand their happily.

He turned round to face his prisoner, whose body had gone limp. Unconscious, but not dead. Any long and he would be; Percy groaned.

He retracted his claw-like arm, allowing Aleksei's body to fall down on to an icy plane beneath him. Percy sighed letting his hands fall down to his side –

The sound of gun fire rang in the air as all police men shot at him, causing slight discomfort wherever they hit – as if someone was flicking him.

Anger flushed through his systems – he'd let the man live, hadn't he? It was more then what they would've done! Had they even _managed_ to get rhinoceros' man out of his suit, they would've of shot him to death! They should be thanking him!

Growling in irritation, he turned and swept one hand widely through the air, causing bullets of water to shoot out from the lakes surface. Meant to be a warning shot, they slammed against police cars and regular cars alike, causing huge dents in the side. Some were flipped into the air, slamming into buildings and unfortunate souls, while many were pushed off the road and onto the pavement.

The single move had thrown the entire sector into chaos, with some screaming in agony and other's screaming in anger. He heard one man shout loudly above the rest.

"Retreat! Retreat!" It was the chief, shouting from his position against the shore. They didn't need to be told twice, with many running away with screams of agony.

Percy tsk'ed. Weren't police men supposed to be brave?

Stepping of his podium of ice, he walked casually across the water, his steps causing webs of cool ice to streak across the lake's face. By now the entire block was near enough deserted, with the authorities no doubt calling in for back up.

"Well, well," Percy called out, not unkindly, but not nice either. "I thought the police would stay for a little longer."

"Sorry to disappoint," The chief said, his voice shaking from the stain against his chest, "but we've got bigger things to deal with then you."

Percy couldn't help the laugh that escaped his lips. "Like what," he asked coldly, "finding out who ate the last doughnut? Or perhaps you're looking for the coffee thief?"

Percy swung his tentacle arms around, gesturing to the surroundings: "Those things are _so _much more dangerous than me."

The chief groaned. "The police might fear you," he wheezed loudly; Percy snorted, "but," – he took in a deep breath, steadying himself – "Spider-man isn't!"

It was in that moment where Percy caught movement to his left. He moved too slowly, being slammed into by a blur of red and blue.

He stumbled backwards, slipping on the ice and fell onto his back. He groaned in anger, standing up to look at the patient figure crouching finely in one of the trees.

"Spider – man," he assumed, glaring disdainfully.

* * *

**I am so sorry it took so long to update - all my data was deleted, aside from one (Nevermore - which I was just about to put up anyway.) Basically, all you need to know is this my computer died, which deleted all my word on word (I write all of these on word then update) and it sort meant I had to write everything again. I was also drawing a lot, which sort of took up a lot of my time. And then I started the English Language course, which means I'm writing a lot more and now have less time for stories (it's mainly the former, though.)Anyway, thank you to all who favourited, followed and review - which was a lot of you; that really, really helped me and hopefully this time my computer won't crash... hopefully.**

**Oh, and thank you to all those people who responded to the Percy VS Jason question - I really don't like Jason as a character, and it sort of annoys me how he's taller then Percy, as petty as it seems... and how's he's idolised as being perfect. **

**Now I will attempt to answer some reviews - if I don't get to you, please don't take it personally:**

**Falia7: **I really love that you asked this question :). I There are several reasons why I chose to do it as Percy and not some random god person thing. The weakest reason is that I would feel uncomfortable writing about an Avenger's fanfic without it being a crossover. Since I have literally only watched the movies, I'd feel like people would expect me of read the comics and watch the movies and know everything there is to know. But when it's a crossover, I always feel that it doesn't apply so much - does that make sense? The second reason is essentially because it gives something for Percy to develop in to - a way to show to progression of his character throughout certain scenarios. In the fanfic I'm attempting - _attempting_ - to show the difference between how things a perceived and how things actually are - like, how in this chapter the suit of armor, which is something seen to be protective, is the thing that injured him - again, I hope that makes sense. A the third is that I just love Percy as a character and I'm trying to make him dark and sarcastic (don't think it will work but I can try!)

**NoNumbersInMyUserName**: I'm sorry - don't really understand you. Do you mean the layout of the P.O.V's? Or how the writing's in readable paragraphs (I swear, nobody does this any more.) If not, then I ahve no clue, but thank you anyway?

**Matt: **You can love a character and make them evil and BAMF at the same time, you know.

**ObssessedWithPercyJackson**: His age will be explained in later chapters... possibly. And thanks for the information - I had no idea about it before then. I tried to look up something along those lines, but i didn't find anything helpful, so this was really informative :)

**Just Anny**: yeah... I loved writing it like that :D

**Oh, and I should clear up, this is a three way cross over between the amazing spider-man, PJO and Avengers - and I'm possibly getting tumblr! Yay! It only took me three years to decide. When I do, I'll tell you and then it'll make answering question so much easier on me.**


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